Clouds slung over land
like a prayer shawl before the dawn.
They cling softly to earth’s shoulders,
until sun begins to warm her soul.
Mist slowly slips away
leaves moisture upon her limbs,
like tear drops shed in supplication
seeking grace for this day.
Monday’s quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words) for dVerse, that virtual pub for poets, where today Kim is tending bar and folks are writing about clouds. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on over and imbibe in more clouds. Photos from a past trip to Alaska.